


Black Velvet

by krysnel_nicavis



Series: Porn on the Cutting Room Floor (and other places) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Porn With Plot, Pre-Episode: s05e04 The End, Substance Abuse, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, bottom!Castiel, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krysnel_nicavis/pseuds/krysnel_nicavis
Summary: In the midst of the apocalypse, a small group of people are just fighting to survive. Reluctantly, Castiel is slowly becoming human. This is how he copes.





	Black Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> I figured this would take place sometime in mid to late 2013-ish. None of the songs mentioned in this were released after 2010.
> 
> * * * * *

The majority of the Croat population was currently centered up around the northern portion of Kansas City – the Missouri side – so their little scavenging party focused their search efforts to the south-east. There were rumours that the government were about to quarantine the areas where the Croats liked the congregate the most. Their base at Camp Chitaqua was beginning to get a little crowded as more survivors of the demonic virus were found in need of shelter, and they were going through their supplies at a much faster rate than their “fearless leader” would prefer. As a result, they were required to risk leaving the relative safety of the oftentimes confining camp. So, here they were. A little too far inside the city for anyone’s liking, but they’d already cleared out the areas closest to the camp of all the littlest luxuries (like toothpaste and batteries) and the most needed supplies (non-perishable canned food and medicine).

On one of their earliest raids, he’d stopped in the electronic section of the department store they were in and discovered a small stock of solar powered chargers. He’d immediately seen the practicality of them and put all of them in the bag he’d brought for anything he wanted for himself – he’d begun, in these dark times, finding a new appreciation for the little things that humanity had to offer. He’d also, eventually, snagged a few iPods and a laptop.

His raid partner had not been happy about it.

His partner hadn’t been too happy about the CDs he’d pilfered, once the wifi had finally cut out for good, since then either… But that may have more to do with his penchant for wandering away from the more pertinent areas of the store. Pointing out that it was surprising that any of it was still even there, given the human tendency for looting, apparently did _not_ make it any better. (Even if said partner _did_ enjoy playing Cut The Rope and Fruit Ninja on his spare iPod Touch.)

Their small group had been forced to take shelter in an alley. They were pinned in place by a larger group of Croats when it became apparent that the long range firearms were no longer enough.

He placed the earbuds in his ears, the cord efficiently threaded under his “hippie shirt” to connect to the old fourth generation silver iPod shuffle clipped to a pocket of his worn boot-cut jeans. Despite its slightly beaten and scuffed appearance, the old portable music playing device was still properly serviceable in this apocalyptic world they regretfully found themselves living in. The twang of a guitar sounded when he pressed the ‘play/pause’ button and he drew two silver and black police issue side arms from where they were stashed in the shoulder holsters he’d managed to find when they’d first raided an abandoned guns and ammunition supply shop on their way to the city.

His heart thumped in his chest in time with the base guitar. He nodded to his partner and, once given the signal, they left the shelter of the alley. He strode down the center of the street, along the single yellow line as the lyrics of his current favourite hunting song sounded in his ears, trusting his partner to have his back. He had his guns pointed upwards on either side of his head and pulled back the hammers with his thumbs.

As the Croats followed their movement, already swarming at the prospect of fresh prey, he expertly took aim. The cracking of his funs often in sync with the beats of the snare drum in his ears. Long gone were the days that he questioned the effectiveness of firearm as an efficient weapon. True, he’d been an expert with a blade, but he’d proven a quick study with a gun and, as his partner once proudly claimed, he was a crack shot with a handgun.

He took cover behind an abandoned car when his bullets ran out. His partner continuing to fire until his own sidearms quit firing before crouching down beside him. The other team covered them while they switched out their empty magazines for full ones.

“Ready, Sunshine?” his partner asked. He nodded and, after checking how close the Croats were, they came out from their cover, firing rapidly once more as his song began its second verse. They dispatched of the enemy Croats and lead their raid party into the nearest drug store – one with a pharmacy – just as his song drew to its end.

He made his way directly to the pharmacy at the back of the store as My Darkest Days’ “Like Nobody Else” played in his ears. His partner trailed closely behind him, both moving cautiously in case a stray Croat hid in one of the aisles – not that they honestly expected one to. The infected couldn’t resist loud noises and the potential for a fresh kill, it’s the reason they stowed the trucks close to the edge of the city and made the rest of the journey on foot, but they hadn’t made it this far for this long by being reckless in the field.

He filled his backpack with all the useable prescription drugs behind the counter while his partner went for the medical supplies. They both pretended that he wasn’t slipping a significant number of prescription opioids into his personal side bag. Once they cleared out as much as they could, they moved to the non-prescription drug aisles where some of the others were already grabbing as much as they could off the shelves and did the same. They both also pretended that his partner didn’t slip a large amount of Astroglide and condoms into his own personal bag.

Once the group was loaded up with everything they could carry, they set out back to the camp, hoping to make it back to where they parked the trucks before the low light of dusk twilight began to set in and their visibility was compromised. There was nothing worse than fighting Croats in the dark. They were intercepted by a few strays, but made quick work of taking them out and kept going. Every time they went on a supply run they were having to venture farther from the camp for what they needed and they needed to bring back greater quantities. On top of that, they were also having to siphon fuel from abandoned cars since the closest gas station had recently run dry.

They made it back to the camp relatively unscathed – they’d only lost one person to the Croats this time, he was new and cocky and stupid but still, a loss is a loss – and left the communal supplies to be tallied and rationed by the people put in charge of keeping track of it, under the supervision of the once-Prophet of the Lord, Chuck Shurley.

Castiel took his personal bag back to his cabin. As the close personal friend of Dean Winchester, leader of this tiny resistance, and his second-in-command, Castiel was one of the few granted use of the small number of permanent structures in the camp for his private quarters. Most of the others were relegated to tents, many of which lodged more than one occupant with sometimes as much as four sharing a single tent. His cabin was the closest to Dean’s.

He entered his cabin alone, brushing past the beaded curtain he’d installed in place of a door a while back because he found he liked the clatter the wooden beads made when they moved. He dropped his back onto the queen sized bed which consisted of a box-spring mattress on the floor currently topped with a nest of warm quilts in “funky” colours. All of which had been procured from nearby homes when they’d first begun scouring the area for supplies. Back when he’d first noticed that his fading grace was no longer replenishing itself like it normally did and he found himself enjoying small creature comforts.

Castiel may still be learning to pick up on human social cues, but he was fairly certain that Dean felt guilty, as he was wont to do, about him slowly becoming human and went to great lengths to make sure he was comfortable. He was also fairly certain that many of the others thought Dean went a little too far to accommodate Castiel and his quirks. Jealousy was a fairly new emotion for him, but it was one he was becoming well acquainted with in regards to his partner.

He stripped out of his jacket and jeans, toeing his boots off when they got in the way and kicked them aside, tossing his socks after them. He fished out a random prescription bottle – acetaminophen and codeine, 60mg tablets – depositing the bag on the floor next to his nightstand where he dropped his iPod. He took the bottle to what served as a sort of kitchen area of the single room cabin where he popped six pills into his mouth, swallowing them with a generous swig of Jack Daniels.

“You need to start watching how much of that shit you’re takin’,” the voice of his partner drifted to his ears from the general area of the door. He responded with a non-committal grunt and took another pull from the glass bottle. His partner snagged it from his hands. “I’m serious Cas,” he said before taking a large gulp. “Your mojo’s not what it used to be. Last thing any of us needs is you out of commission or dead because you were stupid enough to OD.”

Castiel glared at that. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, turning his back on the man next to him and returning to what served as the bedroom area. He swiped his iPod Touch from where it lay discarded on one of the pillows in his “nest” and turned it on. He scrolled through his playlists and found the one he wanted. He tapped his song of choice to start it playing, making sure the small speaker was turned up.

As the familiar twanging guitar began his partner snorted. “You and this song. We need to find you some new tunes.” The bottle clanked lightly as it was set down on a side table.

“Says the man who believes they stopped making music after 1993.”

“Oh, he speaks!”

Castiel glared again. “Don’t you have a groupie to fornicate with, oh fearless leader?” It was Dean’s turn to glare.

“Well, I guess you could have picked a worse song to fixate on than one about The King,” he said instead of responding to the jab. Castiel raised an eyebrow. “What? I can dig it.”

The pills he took were beginning to take effect as the chorus of Alannah Myles’ “Black Velvet” played from the iPod still in his hand. He wasn’t sure why he liked this particular song. Something in it just resonated with him and he couldn’t explain it. He place the iPod on his nightstand, beginning to sway. Castiel refused to say it out loud, but Dean was right: he needed to slow down on his substance and alcohol intake. He still had some of his “mojo”, but he was far more human than he cared to admit right now.

Arms wrapped around his waist to steady him. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s get you into bed before it really hits you and you wind up on your ass.” Castiel hummed in response. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and fell backwards onto the mattress, Dean landing on top of him with a grunt.

Cas tucked his knees in on either side of Dean’s hips. He felt Dean’s erect, denim clad cock press up against his as he slowly hardened as well. He bit his lip and ground up against the man he willing fell from heaven for, and would follow back into the fiery pits of hell if he asked. Dean groaned and rocked his hips, pressing back to the beat of the music. They rutted against each other until Dean pulled away with a hiss.

“Too many damned layers,” he muttered and stripped before helping Cas out of the remainder of his clothes. He snatched a bottle of Astroglide and a condom from his jacket before rejoining Castiel on the bed. As his hands slid up Castiel’s bare thighs, the opening lyrics to “Grenade” played – Dean was on the fence with his opinion of Bruno Mars.

Castiel took a shuddered breath at the sensation, feeling like his head was in a bubble. Not his entire head. Maybe just his brain. Separate and… and… He moaned, letting his head drop back on to the bed as his cock was completely enveloped in the hot, wet channel of Dean’s throat. The man’s lips wrapped perfectly around his width.

He felt Dean circle the ring of his ass with a lubed fingertip, teasing before slowly working into the tight space. He was careful as they let what Dean termed Cas’ “weird, emotionally charged modern music” wash over them. Cas took a breath to stave off his building frustration. They hadn’t had penetrative sex in a while and, no matter what he said, Dean didn’t care that he still had enough grace to heal any tearing if they went too quickly with this, he was always determined. _“I’m going to take care of you dammit”_. So he worked Cas open, exercising patience for both of them as Cas squirmed and begged for him to just get on with it.

“Damn it, Dean. Just fuck me already!” Dean ignored him until he was satisfied. When he’d finally slipped on a condom and slid in up to his balls they both moaned in satisfaction.

Pink’s “Just Like A Pill” kicked in and Dean pressed their foreheads together. They just stayed there a few moments, joined, arms around each other, breathing the same air. He looked deep into those beautiful green eyes that he’d fallen for long before he’d ever seen them through the eyes of his vessel and existed in them. “Since when has it ever been ‘just fucking’ with us, Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes welled with tears that fell when he scrunched his eyelids shut. Dean’s lips pressed tenderly to each lid before he pull out until just he head of his cock was still buried in the angel’s ass and began rocking back and forth, thrusting almost lazily in his unhurried pace. Cas sighed in his ear, wrapping long muscular legs around his waist and thrusting back, meeting him thrust for thrust.

As the sensations built and the need for chasing their climax increased, so did their speed. Cas pulled on the man’s hair and dug his nails in his back, moaning in his ear when Dean sat back on his haunches, holding the angel up to him with one arm around his waist and the other grasping one of his thighs that had dropped to the side. In this new position, Cas began to ride his human lover.

He leveraged a foot on the mattress and forced them to roll over until he was sitting properly astride with the man flat on his back. He braced his hands on Dean’s chest as he rode the man fast and hard, both needing and hating to feel the burn of his arms, thighs, and abdominal muscles from the exertion. The faint sound of the mattress springs could be heard through the noise of whatever song was currently playing. Cas had stopped caring and lost track.

They gasped and moaned and panted and he was close. _So close_ … He dropped his head back and groaned loudly as rough, lubed fingers wrapped around his painfully hard, leaking cock. He began muttering, eyes screwed shut, feeling the need to ejaculate build and inch closer and closer and… “Come on, come on, _come on,_ almost there, _almost_ …” He dropped forward pressing his cheek against Dean’s shoulder as his orgasm washed over him. He turned his head and bit down on Dean’s shoulder as he man thrust up a few times, arms wrapped around Cas’ torso, before going rigid. A split second later Castiel felt a sharp pain on his own shoulder as Dean bit him in return.

They lay on their backs beside each other, panting and staring at the ceiling. Alanis Morissette’s voice sang _“So take this moment Mary Jane and be selfish, worry not about the cars that go by…”_

Dean snorted. “Yeah, we really need to find you some more tunes.” They lay like that as the song ended and Meatloaf’s “For Crying Out Loud” played. Dean absentmindedly took Castiel’s hand, idly playing with his fingers until the last note faded before getting up and pulling his clothes back on to the tune of “Ladies and Gentlemen” by a band called Saliva. He looked back at Castiel, still lying drowsily on the bed and took a breath as if to say something but stalled. They locked eyes and he sighed before Cas watched him turn and leave.

Castiel stretched and reached over to pick up the iPod again. He selected a song and dropped it back on the nightstand, burrowing into the blankets again.

_“Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell, Jimmy Rogers on the Victrola up high…”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the renowned fic "Twist and Shout", I permanently associate Castiel with "Black Velvet" by Alanna Myles (since the song is about Elvis). So I finally decided to write something about it.


End file.
